The Hiking Hokie: McAffee's Knob

Graduate school applications, interviews, and "roommate finder" quizzes have lately become my life. The roommate finders in particular seem intent to fit me into a pretty little labeled box. "Are you neat or messy," they ask. "Do you smoke," they inquire. And my very favorite: "Are you a morning person or a night owl?" If the precedent of my sleep habits is any suggestion, it would seem that I am neither. I am the one who you will find sleeping on the couch at the social gathering without a single drop of alcohol or drug in my system. I am the one who then proceeds to wake up at 10 a.m. with a yawn and a stretch, ready to begin again. One should then be able to presume that 4:30 a.m. is about as far as I could possibly get from my most functional hours.

The last time I went to McAffee's Knob, my journey began at this ungodly hour. It was January of my freshman year, dark, and roughly 15 degrees Fahrenheit. I had never before seen the outdoors of the Virginia Tech campus at 4:30 in the morning, but was prepared to brave the cold darkness for a chance to see the sun rise over this beautiful, iconic peak. I may have been romanticizing the idea, because all I remember of this particular excursion was trudging up the mountain with my head stuffed into two hats and my nose buried beneath the neckline of my coat. We snapped a few photos as the sun peaked over the horizon and quickly resumed our trek - this time plodding our way down the mountain.

Four years later and having never seen the uphill trek of McAffee's in daylight, Anthony and I decided to partake on this hike. As the proud new owner of an adorable puppy named Rowan, Anthony was excited to bring the pup along, but was concerned about the strain of the hike on the little guy's joints. He assured me that he had a backpack that he would put the puppy in and we'd be good to go. It wasn't until we arrived at the trailhead that I learned that the puppy had never actually been placed in the backpack before. After a good 5 minutes of squishing the wriggling 30 pound animal into a backpack fit to be part of a middle-schooler's first-day-of-school getup, we succeeded. The pup was zipped in, all limbs crammed into the sack with a smiling face popping out the top. We grinned at our success.

We smiled too soon, it would seem. For as soon as Anthony picked up the dog-filled backpack and placed it on his back, another dog frolicked across the puppy's line of sight and he catapulted out of the bag. I caught the creature before he crashed to the ground. Rowan, it would seem, was not going to stay put in the bag. We let him wander along a little ways on his own, but before long, resorted to carrying him fireman style up the mountain. He seemed to appreciate his high perch and contently lounged on our shoulders as we headed up the mountain. I don't think I've ever been a part of more conversation on a hike - it was great. Every person we passed had to exclaim about our apparent lack of understanding on how to effectively walk a dog. Rowan just smiled and took in the view.